


The Phoenix Rises

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Forgiveness, Having Faith, Hope vs. Despair, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9363413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: From the ashes, the Phoenix will rise. The rebirth of 221B.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It WILL be the two of them against the world once more. They will make sure of that.

The building inspectors had left weeks ago, declaring that, with time, Baker Street could be restored to whatever passed for normal nowadays. A testimony to the strength of older architecture, they had said in amazement.

 

Mrs.Hudson was off to her sister's, and Sherlock stayed with Mycroft, while the front wall of 221 was replaced. Strangely, or perhaps not, all things considered, the dark front door with it's heavy knocker remained in place. 

 

Sherlock had scarcely arrived upstairs, when the knocker rapped and rapped and rapped. It put him in mind of his violin. The raps first pizzicato, like quick, sharp bee stings. Then staccato, measured and distinct.

 

Opening the door revealed John, cloth in hand. "John what?"

 

The shorter man looked up with wistful eyes. "This was the first thing you touched, after you shook my hand, the day we came to see the flat. I wanted it to be the first thing I touched when I came back. And honestly, Sherlock, this knocker has needed a good polishing for at least seven years."

 

For a moment, the detective stood mute, then rasped, "Come back?"

 

"Well depending on whether or not I'm to be allowed in, or left on the stoop just rubbing your knob." His voice held a lightness that had been missing for a very long time, and he SMILED!

 

"Of course John, come in, come in!" Sherlock turned so sharply, his feet wrapped around each other and his balance failed. Arms pinwheeling, he managed to catch himself just enough to land with a smack, on his bottom, on the third stair up. "Damn, ow!"

 

Then his ears heard a beautiful sound. John was laughing, leaning against the inside wall, giggling like a schoolboy.

 

"Leave it to you to welcome me in a way that requires a doctor you git. If it's all the same to you, in light of our last "exit" from here, I'd rather neither of us did the flailing arms and legs thing again for a while." 

 

Debating whether to feign insult or join in the good humor, Sherlock chose middle ground as he rubbed the injured area. "Care to kiss it and make it better, Doctor Watson?"

 

John didn't respond, but his fond expression made Sherlock blush from the tips of his toes to his disheveled curls.

 

"Go on then genius, lead the way."

 

"John, I'm afraid Rosie can't yet be upstairs. The wallpaper paste, paint fumes, brick dust."

 

Suddenly John appeared panicked. "Rosie? Gads! Rosie!" Then he grinned, "Did you think I left her outside tied to the railing? She's with Harry until she can come home, numpty." 

 

The younger man brushed aside his embarrassment in favor of a small smile, and climbed the stairs.

 

John looked around with a mixture of dismay and wonder. So much had been destroyed, but so much more had actually survived. "Like us", he thought. Saying instead, "Well here's another fine mess you've gotten us into." Shaking his head, he added, "Sorry, that's..."

 

"Laurel and Hardy, yes? I've, ah, been trying to broaden my cultural horizons."

 

"Spot on, well done you! Now, seems we've a big task ahead. Right, you tell me the plan, and I'll give the orders."

 

Sherlock actually snorted, and they both laughed until breathing was almost impossible. 

 

"HOW did you get the identical wallpaper?"

 

"Evidently Hudders bought in bulk anticipating a fairly regular schedule of fires and explosions in the flat."

 

"We certainly didn't let her down in that regard. Guess it's best we each just grab something and start. Can't see rhyme or reason is the order of the day quite yet."

 

Turning away from each other, each found themselves maneuvering their chairs back to pride of place. This time laughter gave way to gentle smiles.

 

It continued to happen. Sherlock would pick up a shade only to find John holding the lamp. Volumes of books and journals, scattered at random, were seemingly collected with purpose. Then John picked up the headphones, as across the room Sherlock retrieved the animal skull.

 

"This is becoming rather unnerving John."

 

"I prefer to think of it as revealing."

 

"In what way?"

 

John placed the headphones atop the horned skull. "You're the one so fond of saying the Universe is rarely so lazy. I think fate is telling us some things, and people, are meant to be together." He raised a hand to Sherlock's cheek and grabbed his phone.

 

"Don't tell me Doctor, you are starving!"

 

They ate Chinese in contented silence until Sherlock read his fortune. "You are going to have a baby."

 

"If any man could pull it off, it would be you. Wouldn't bet the family fortune on it though."

 

Sherlock looked up shyly, "I'm only betting the odds."

 

"Hot tip is it?"

 

Clearing his throat, Sherlock ventured, "You said Rosie was with Harry until she could come home. Where is home? Is this home John? I'm afraid to be wrong."

 

Combing his fingers through his now long silver blond hair, the ex-soldier pursed his lips. "Unlike those of us who were raised like brilliant minds, WE don't go where we haven't been invited."

 

"There will never be any part of my life into which you are not invited with open arms. My work, my home, my heart, my bed." His voice cracked at this last, and he couldn't force himself to meet John's eyes.

 

"Sherlock, look at me." The tone held no anger only kindness. "I can't give you all of that just yet. It's too soon. But this IS home, and the quicker we make sense of the mess, the earlier we can go about building our family, together."

 

~~~***~~~

 

Letting John go back to his flat that night had been so hard, but wonderful John had left him with hope, and THAT was enough.

 

In the days to come, both men had cause to wish that Hudders really was their housekeeper. Sherlock would pout when John pointed out that it wasn't good enough to simply move the dirt around, and no, he couldn't sweep it under the rugs to keep for experiments.

 

One Friday afternoon, Sherlock had "behaved" so well that John "allowed" him to shoot the wall; and then the doctor himself spray-painted a grinning yellow smiley face to match.

 

When he left that night, John asked if he might bring something to hang on the wall. Sherlock responded by scolding his even feeling the need to ask.

 

That Saturday was warm and bright. Sherlock watched from the window as John came to the door, the sun seeming to place a halo over his head. Then it occurred to him, his blogger was struggling with a large package, and he raced down the stairs.

 

Relieving John of his burden, they went into the flat. The older man smirked at Sherlock's excitement. "Go on then Mr.Curiosity. Open it up, it's for both of us." 

 

Sherlock gasped at the framed painting. From a pyre of flames rose a magnificent bird with red and gold feathers. "A Phoenix."

 

"Yes, clever boy. A Phoenix rising from the ashes."

 

"It's beautiful John, life from death."

 

"It's what we are Sherlock, what we need to be. We couldn't have gone on as before. Too much has changed, we've changed."

 

"We're still US John, please say you believe that."

 

"With my very soul. You know I haven't been to mass since before Afghanistan, but there's scripture. 'The former things shall pass away, and all things shall be made new. Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust in the sure hope of the resurrection.' We're made new Sherlock. We've been through the fire and are reborn."

 

"It's a whole new world John."

 

The blogger cuffed his grinning detective. "I'm quoting the Bible and you're channeling Aladdin."

 

"Expanding my horizons, if you recall. Where shall we hang this?"

 

"I thought perhaps over the bed."

 

"The bed? My bed?"

 

"No, Hudders bed, she's an art lover. Of course your bed! And speaking of expanding your horizons, I thought it might become OUR bed, luv."

 

Sherlock sat and stared, eyes wide.

 

John rubbed his back, "Sherlock, breathing is NOT optional. If you don't want, or aren't ready..."

 

Sherlock stood up so quickly, he almost knocked John to the floor. "No! The thing you said, that's good. We should hang ourselves on the wall and get the Phoenix in bed." Stuttering as his brain caught up to his mouth, "I mean the wall, us, the picture, the bed, shit- Oh God Yes!"

 

John pulled the tall man down for a tender kiss. "If you faint Sherlock Holmes, I'm dragging you to bed by your ankles, and that giant brain of yours can bump along behind."

 

"John, I need to say, this isn't my, you won't be..."

 

"Have you ever done this without drugs? Have you ever done this with someone you love who loves you back, fiercely?" Sherlock only shook his head. "Then, MY heart, you ARE brand new."

 

~~~***~~~

 

They had taken each other that night, pouring every bit of themselves into caresses, kisses, and some acrobatics that, frankly, John hadn't thought himself capable of at forty-five.

 

Sherlock, naturally, even this softer, sweeter version, still wanted to catalogue their "erotic antics", as he put it for further study. 

 

John had put a stop to that research with tickles, and one resounding Captain Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers spank to one very lush, plush arse.

 

The next morning brought more sex, more love and breakfast with enough pain relievers for two forty something crime fighters.

 

John had just declared the flat "Rosie worthy", when Sherlock gave him the DVD. "It's a second one John, from Mary. I didn't look at it but the handwriting is the same. I apologize for withholding it until now. I have no excuse for not giving it to you yesterday when I found it before we..."

 

"I understand luv. This "newness" is a bit scary, but we'll get there together. Now let's have a look."

 

As the DVD ended, Sherlock took John in his arms. "Are we The Baker Street Boys, John?"

 

"We are, my beautiful, brilliant man, but I disagree with one thing. We are NOT the "Legend". If it's the Legend that matters, all Rosie will have of her mum is stories of a payed assassin who killed for years for large sums of money, and a liar who tried to kill you. I don't, can't choose to think of her only in those terms."

 

"Nor should you. You can't dismiss the part of her that loved you, and saved me- for you."

 

"Too right. So, we aren't the Hat and the Blog. We are William Sherlock Scott Holmes and John Hamish Watson. Two men who have been to hell and back together, who have forgiven each other everything. We share a faith and hope in one another, and we are going to raise a wondrous child together."

 

"Above all else, MY John, we are two real men who love each other very, very much. THAT matters, WE are what matters. If there is never another case, clue, deduction, or solution, WE MATTER!"

 

John kissed Sherlock putting all his love into the touch, then smiled. "Mrs.Hudson is due back tomorrow, so we best get frisky while we can."

 

"Excellent John. Humping before Hudder is here. Then what?"

 

"What, can't deduce it? We're going to go collect OUR Rosie, and then, we are ALL coming home."

**Author's Note:**

> Where there is hatred, let me sow love.  
> Where there is injury pardon.  
> Where there is doubt faith.  
> Where there is despair hope.
> 
> * Excerpt from Prayer of Saint Francis
> 
> ** Sherlock and John will always find the road back to one another, because, in the end, who they are DOES matter.


End file.
